


Hit Me with Those Laser Beams (Relax)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Could be considered a Get-Together Fic, M/M, On Set Fic, Public Sex, Rimming, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Richard helps Taron relax on set.Or, Taron gets atongue-lashing.





	Hit Me with Those Laser Beams (Relax)

**Author's Note:**

> This idea's been nagging at me for days so mine and Pip's obsession obviously had to combine with this. Just some guys bein' pals, yeah? Pun in the summary is courtesy of Pip, as well. 
> 
> Big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing!!
> 
> Enjoy!

“You’re too tense,” Richard murmurs against his lips. “Relax, T.”

Taron makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat. He doesn’t respond, too busy getting kissed within an inch of his life by Richard, but he tries to take the advice to heart. He focuses on letting his body lose some tension, uncurling his fingers from their white-knuckle grip on Richard’s shoulders, spreading his legs and not drawing his knees together every time the heat of Richard’s groin gets too close to Taron’s own.

He’s pretty sure it’s working—his cock thinks so, at least, half hard as it is—except Dexter sighs and calls “Cut!” Shame burns through Taron like a forest fire and he cringes.

“Shh, shh,” Richard coos. “You’re doin’ fine, love.”

Taron’s cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he hisses. He shoves at Richard’s chest gently and squirms out from under the other man. “Sorry, Dex,” he hollers. “Just, give me a minute?”

“Take your time, Taron,” Dexter calls back. “Just relax a bit, yeah?”

Taron swallows a groan. “Got it, thanks.” He flops back against the pillows and scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck.”

“Taron,” Richard murmurs. He climbs up the bed and looks down at Taron. “It’s fine. It’s not something you can just pick up right off the bat.”

Taron doesn’t look at him.

“Look at me, T.” Richard reaches out and peels one hand from his face, then the other. Richard grins in the face of Taron’s unimpressed stare. “You’re doin’ fine.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Taron snaps. His eyes burn so he closes them, takes a deep breath. “I’m, I’m screwing it all up.”

Richard’s doesn’t respond and Taron’s chest seizes with panic. _I’m fucking this up, this scene is going to be a disaster, I’m—_

Taron’s thoughts are abruptly cut off when Richard kisses him. It’s slow and sensual and Taron melts into it. Richard runs a hand through Taron’s thinned hair and down his neck, over his bare chest.

“Do ye trust me?” Richard asks when the kiss breaks.

“You know I do, Dicky,” Taron breathes back. His hands have somehow made a home on Richard’s shoulders, sweat-slicked under his palms.

“Turn over for me?”

Taron hesitates for a moment, but doesn’t object as Richard takes him by the hips and helps him turn over. The sheets are uncomfortably warm against his cool front, and Richard’s a burning heat along his back. The position is intimate, different from the other ones they’ve tried in front of the camera.

 _The camera_.

“Fuck, Richard, the cameras.”

“Shh,” Richard coos. “Ignore them, love.”

Taron’s body burns to his core at the word slipping off Richard’s lips so easily. “What’re you up to?”

“Just trust me.” Richard’s hands tug at the tight denim clinging to Taron’s body. He tugs and Taron instinctually lifts his hips to help the jeans slide off. “Ignore the cameras, ignore Dex. It’s just you and me, alright?”

Taron pillows his head on his arms and turns his face to the opposite side of the set, away from the crowd of people. Attention is starting to drift to them and Taron’s blush feels splotchy and hot running over his skin. So he focuses on the wall to the left of the bed, the fake window with a heavy golden light streaming in that makes everything swelteringly hot.

Richard works the jeans off of Taron and laughs, his breath hitting the small of Taron’s back. “Commando,” he says, almost approvingly.

“S’what’s in the script,” Taron says. His voice is already slurring.

“I know.”

There’s a dull thud behind Taron and then clammy hands on his hips yanking him toward the edge of the bed. Taron yelps and looks wildly over his shoulder. There, on his knees, is Richard, perched happily between Taron’s spread thighs.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping you relax.”

Taron immediately tenses.

“Stop that,” Richard chides. “You trust me. I’ll make you feel good, and then we can continue the scene.”

Taron, no matter how much he believes Richard, can’t shake the tension. He spreads his legs a bit and shivers as his cock glides against the bedsheets. The friction is hot and dry and almost unbearable, just like waiting for whatever Richard has planned.

“You smell so fucking good, T,” Richard says before licking at the crease of skin where Taron’s arse meets his thigh.

Taron yelps and his hips jump up; he nearly goes up on his knees. Richard keeps him from going further by digging his fingers into Taron’s hips. “Richard!”

“Let me take care of you,” Richard growls. His voice vibrates against Taron’s arsecheek.

Taron shivers as the voice races through him, straight to his cock and making his toes curl. “Fine, yes, okay. Get on with it.”

Richard smiles against his bum before biting into it, hard enough that Taron’s sure there will be indents. He swears colorfully again but before he can do much more than that, Richard’s hands are slipping down his body and spreading his cheeks. Taron has just enough time to think _I haven’t showered since last night_ before there’s something flat and wet pressing against his arsehole.

Whatever noise he could possibly make dies in his throat. Richard hums, pleased, and laps at Taron like he’s a fucking ice cream cone. It’s wet and filthy and no one’s ever done this to Taron before. He doesn’t know if he wants to lean away or press back into it.

Thankfully, Richard makes the decision for him. He drags Taron closer and then that wet muscle is slipping _inside_ Taron. That wrenches from his throat the most confused and aroused noise Taron’s ever made, and he buries his face in his arms in embarrassment.

“How am I supposed to relax,” he moans without opening his eyes.

“You’ll get used to it, love.” Richard kisses Taron’s hole, like that’s a _thing_ people just _do_. “Just let yourself go, Taron. Just let yourself feel.”

Taron opens his mouth to argue but then Richard’s tongue is slipping inside him again, _fucking_ into him more like, and Taron’s whole body convulses at the thought. His cock is fully hard now and sits heavy against his thigh, leaking precome against overheated skin. He wants to reach a hand down to touch himself but he’s not sure he could move his arms without toppling over.

Richard licks into him and moans like it’s the best meal he’s ever tasted. There are snippets of words, like _“fuck”_ and _“Taron”_ and _“so good”_ and Taron’s head is fucking swimming. Idly in the back of his head he knows they’re still on set, he knows people could be watching, _Dexter_ could be watching. Fuck, _Elton_ could come by and Taron almost spirals into a flurry of panic.

Except then Richard’s hand is slipping around his cock and a finger slides into Taron’s hole alongside his tongue and all thoughts promptly fuck off from Taron’s head. Richard’s finger is thick and Taron knows that they’re long, though he’s only in up to the first knuckle without the help of lube. It’s still enough to drive Taron nuts, all slick, wet heat and the edge of pressure inching Taron close to orgasm.

His mind inevitably drifts to Richard fucking him and a moan tears from his mouth unbidden. He wants that, suddenly—not that he hasn’t thought of it before, because he has, in idle passing. Richard’s a fit bloke and one of Taron’s best friends, it’s only a bit natural to think about kissing him...among other things. But he’s never wanted it as viscerally as he does now; he’s aching with emptiness and whimpers.

He wishes they had lube and a johnnie on hand because Taron wants Richard inside him almost _viciously_.

“Fuck, Richard,” Taron moans instead of begging to be filled. He can feel Richard’s smirk against his hole and the sensation infuriates him as much as it turns him on. “Fuck,” Taron drags out the word and ruts his hips forward into the tight circle of Richard’s fist. “Want you,” he hisses. He hopes no one else can hear him but Richard clearly does, judging by his own answering moan, and that’s enough. “Inside.”

Richard pulls back long enough to growl, _“Later,”_ before spearing his tongue back into Taron. He’s brutal now, relentless; Taron didn’t even know a person’s tongue could move like this but he doesn’t particularly care.

The promise of Richard giving him more, giving him his _cock_ , sends Taron over the edge. Pleasure hits him like a freight train and burns down his spine, settling in his gut before he fucks forward one last time and splatters come across Richard’s knuckles. He listens to Richard groan as Taron’s hole tightens around his tongue and finger, and Taron wonders if Richard is hard. _He must be, will he let me see?_

Taron falls forward as his orgasm leaves him boneless. He shivers as Richard kisses up his body, across his arse and up his back before planting a kiss on Taron’s cheek. “Nasty,” Taron whines, even as he turns his head and accepts a gentle kiss from Richard.

“Feel better?”

Taron nods.

“Gonna turn you over, love.” Richard does and slots his body against Taron’s. Somewhere off to the side, someone shouts “Action!” and someone else calls “Rolling!” and Taron doesn’t even care that they’re being filmed. He hooks his knees over Richard’s hips and arches up into the next kiss, deeper and wetter. It’s not what the script calls for, even if their love scene was loosely scripted. Richard’s supposed to be underneath Taron but Taron likes this better, for the moment. He rakes his hand through Richard’s hair and the space between them reeks of come.

Richard’s cock is hard against his thigh and Taron’s mouth waters.

“Need help relaxing?” Taron asks between kisses.

“Later,” Richard promises with a grin.


End file.
